


Coat Room

by elistaire



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: House Party, Humor, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-02
Updated: 2012-06-02
Packaged: 2017-11-06 15:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/420496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elistaire/pseuds/elistaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duncan has a house warming party and, like a dope, invites his immortal and mortal friends.  When Gregor shows up MacLeod is sure there's going to be a fight, except sparks start flying between Methos and Gregor in an entirely different way.  Connor just laughs about it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coat Room

**Author's Note:**

> There are three things you need to know about this fic.
> 
> First, if you’ve ever been to a grown-up sort of party at somebody’s house (or held your own) you may have experienced what is known as the coat room. All the coats get put there for safekeeping. When I was a kid, this was the best place to play, ever. It smelled funny (not in a bad way), it was warm and soft and good for napping, and it was the one place the grown-ups didn’t bother you for hours.
> 
> Two, after Duncan helped him get his head back on straight, Gregor discovered that he really liked experiencing life again, and that he wasn’t adverse to finding all those things that were really enjoyable. But, he wasn’t quite ready to entirely shed that little bit of bad boy darkness. He’d earned those scars.
> 
> Three, it’s my birthday (2011), and I have wanted some Methos/Gregor interaction for forever. So, yeah, the story is a bit tongue-in-cheek, and probably a touch OOC, but I’m finally getting what I want. Nyah.

Duncan should have known better. Immortals and mortals did not mix well at parties.

He stood back and surveyed his house warming party. He had well over twenty mortals here: various friends and co-workers. He had close to ten Immortals here. The mixing wasn’t going easily.

Amanda had breezed into town, with her part-time student Michelle Webster, and they had invited themselves. The two of them were in a corner keeping Joe and Methos company. Connor had come to see Duncan’s new place and visit for a few weeks, and was sequestered in a corner with a full glass and was glowering at the room in general. Gina and Robert de Valincourt and Grace Chandal were somewhere in the kitchen, laughing over old jokes and drinking wine. Carl Robinson was holding forth over near the fireplace on the subject of social upheaval.

The doorbell rang and Duncan rubbed a hand down his face. Gregor was at the door with a bottle of wine.

Gregor gave Duncan a hearty handshake and a slap on the back. “I’m glad I was in town for my medical conference,” he said, “at the same time as your house warming.” He looked up and down, surveying the room. “Fantastic new house, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Duncan said, moving aside to let him in. “Make yourself at home.”

The other eight Immortals in the house (Gina, Robert, and Grace peeked out from the kitchen) all stared at Gregor for a long moment, Gregor gave them all the nod—letting them know he wasn’t here to make trouble—and they all turned away. Except for Methos. Methos disengaged himself from the bubbly chatter of Amanda and Michelle, leaving a captivated, and captive, Joe behind to fend for himself.

Please, Duncan sent a silent prayer into the ether, don’t let Gregor and Methos have some ancient grudge between them. Plea made, he waited for Methos to make his way over.

 

~~~~

Poor MacLeod, Methos thought as he surveyed the party.

MacLeod had moved out into the suburbs of Seacouver, buying up a lovely medium-sized house with an attached two-car garage. The yard was immaculate, with actual shrubbery that needed caring for and mulched-up garden beds. So unlike MacLeod, but he’d gone and done it anyway.

And now he was having a house warming party.

The house was full to the brim with people. Two-thirds mortal and fully one third Immortal. Methos sipped his beer. And conversation was trifling. The Immortals all congregated together, whispering, indulging in the rare chance to talk with others who would understand them. The mortals glanced around, certain that something odd was going on, but not comprehending exactly what was quite off.

Methos had watched Joe alternate between enthralled and disbelief at the wickedly tall tales that Amanda was spinning. Her Immortal protégé, Michelle, was either a quick learner, or had been born that way, because she was just as naughty and flirty as Amanda, and with a lot fewer years under her belt.

An Immortal signature preceded the doorbell ringing, and Methos was relieved to have a quiet moment as eight people stopped in their tracks to turn their attentions to the door. The mortals in the room noticed the lull and looked around curiously, almost as if they’d heard the warning signal themselves. Methos found it curious that it had been the sudden lack of sound that had alerted them, as opposed to the buzzing in the head that the rest of them had experienced.

MacLeod opened the door and a young man stood there with a bottle of wine. He gave the secret nod to everyone and the tension in the room ratcheted down by one hundred percent. The mortals had spent a moment looking confused and then started murmuring amongst themselves, and gradually everyone joined in.

Methos detached himself from Amanda and her tiresome part-time student and sauntered over to the door.

The newly arrived Immortal gave MacLeod a hearty handshake and a slap to the back. “I’m glad I was in town for my medical conference,” Methos overheard him say, “at the same time as your house warming.” He looked up and down, surveying the room. “Fantastic new house, by the way.”

“Thanks,” MacLeod said, glancing sideways to see Methos approaching.

Methos gifted MacLeod with a smile, then turned his attention to the newcomer. “Adam Pierson,” he said.

“Gregor Powers,” said the young man. He was a full head shorter than MacLeod, but his eyes were no less intense, and were full of dancing dark and light. His hair was cropped short and he was dressed casually.

“German?” Methos guessed.

“Originally,” Gregor said. “I prefer just Greg these days.”

A crash in the kitchen, and MacLeod murmured an apology and quickly went to deal with the issue.

As he left, Methos had caught the expression of relief—probably because he and Gregor hadn’t immediately started trying to slice each other to ribbons. Honestly, Methos couldn’t imagine why MacLeod had thought a dinner party with so many Immortals had been an acceptable idea. He brought his attention back around to the singular man in front of him. “Did I hear you say you were a doctor?”

“This time around,” Gregor said, “Thanks to Duncan. I had a rough patch for a while and had given up the profession.” There was the barest wince to his words, as if he was still coming to terms with that rough patch.

“I know what you mean,” Methos said sympathetically. “Been back and forth a few times myself with the medical profession. Not always the easiest calling.” He looked out at the room, seeing the mortals, so tough, so frail.

Gregor’s keen gaze followed Methos’ line of sight. “I understand. It’s too hard to take unless you give yourself a decade off now and again.”

Now that mixture of light and darkness made a bit more sense to Methos. He leaned in, his interest piqued, and was delighted to see that Greg didn’t back away. “I’ve been there,” Methos said. “Wiped out. No matter how much you do, it’s a drop in the bucket. Dark days.”

“Indeed,” Greg said, a shadow to the expression on his face, and Methos thought the slight purse to Greg’s lower lip was most becoming.

Methos added, “You have to find the good things in life. Things to enjoy.”

Greg tilted his head. “Perhaps we should move away from the front door,” he said. “It sounds like we’ve had some similar experiences.”

“There’s a guest bedroom where MacLeod is keeping the coats. It’d be quiet there, and we could continue our…conversation,” Methos suggested, and found it most promising when Greg’s eyes darkened.

“By all means,” Greg said. “I’d love to…talk. Lead the way.”

 

~~~

 

The party was finally winding down and Duncan was beyond glad. He’d had to mediate between a few of his co-workers and Connor over an unintended insult about adult education. For some reason, Immortals tended to be touchy about having had to learn to read when they were well out of childhood. Or a regular lifespan, for that matter. And he’d had to keep Amanda, Michelle, and Gina from showing each other their favorite tricks to disarm a man. It had started to get destructive when they’d been one-upping each other and he’d lost a few plants.

“Duncan,” said his co-worker, Alisha. Her hand was on the arm of Steve, her husband, but Steve’s attention was focused across the room, watching Amanda bob and weave as she showed Gina how she used to do something in the circus.

“Can I fetch your coats?” Duncan offered, grateful. These would be the first to leave, and as soon as one couple left, the others would soon follow. He’d probably be left with a house full of Immortals, and the thought gave him a stabbing pain behind his left eye, but he supposed he would deal with it. Somehow.

“Thank you,” Alisha purred at him.

Duncan slipped into the guest room where all the coats had been stashed. He froze in place.

The bed, which was mounded over with coats, was positioned such that there was about a two foot space between the bed and the wall with the window. In that small space were two bodies, writhing all over each other. He could see only two dark heads of hair, and hear a lot of kissing noises.

Methos popped his head up, his mouth swollen and his eyes bright. “Duncan,” he drawled, with a quick affirming look to the person below him. “Care to join in?”

Duncan glanced over the bed. Gregor. He had been wondering where the two of them had gone off to. “No. Thanks.” Duncan grabbed at the two coats he needed to retrieve. “And the guests will be coming in for their coats, so the two of you need to make yourselves presentable,” he said sternly.

Methos lazily moved his hand in front of him, and Duncan could see that Gregor was sucking on the tips of his fingers. Greg’s eyes were closed, and his hands were settled on Methos’ hips. “Forget your guests for five minutes.” Methos put his head back, exposing his neck, and Gregor leaned up to start trailing kisses.

Gregor paused just long enough to give Duncan a sideways look, earnest and hungry, and very, very happy. “C’mon, Duncan,” he said. “Live a little.”

Duncan closed his eyes and counted to three, and was thankful that at least they still had their clothes on. “Just get up and come out of the room,” he demanded, voice low. He hustled the coats out the door, catching one last movement with his peripheral vision as Gregor surged up and twisted Methos down so that they’d reversed positions. Good grief, Duncan thought.

“Here,” Duncan said, giving Alisha and Steve their coats. “Thank you for coming—“ He noticed two of his other guests starting for the second bedroom. “Excuse me,” he said abruptly to Alisha, and cut the other two off. “Let me get your coats.”

“Er, thank you, Duncan,” said Harrold. “Do you know which ones—“

“Yes,” Duncan said, “Just one moment.” He ducked back into the coat room. Methos and Gregor were still kissing. Their arms were wrapped around each other, and they were still wedged in that small space between the bed and the wall. If the bed were slightly higher, Duncan would have considered shoving them beneath it to get them out of sight.

One of them was making small, satisfied noises, and there was the rustle of clothing as they rubbed against each other. It was like finding teenagers hiding in a closet. Duncan fingered his collar. It was suddenly stuffy in here, he thought.

He grabbed the coats and made sure the door latched securely behind him. “Here you go,” he told his co-workers as he handed the coats over.

After that, Duncan stationed himself in front of the door, like a guardian. He dispensed the coats, and had all-too-brief moments of voyeuristic pleasure at seeing his two friends kissing as if they had all but given up the act of needing to breathe.

Finally, almost everyone was gone. Only Connor, who was staying in the third guest bedroom, remained. Connor, his attention sharp, came over to Duncan.

“You’ve been guarding the bedroom like there’s a pile of treasure in it,” he observed. “Is there something you’re not telling me?” he asked, his voice quiet and sure of himself.

Duncan put one hand over his eyes and with the other motioned for Connor to open the door, if it pleased him.

With a look that could have cut through stone, Connor nudged the door open. Then he closed the door with a nod, his scowl only partially softened. He patted Duncan on the shoulder. “Next time, either don’t buy such a frippery of a house, or don’t go having such a harebrained idea as a house warming party,” he said, and laughed to himself as he disappeared down the hallway and into his guest room.

Duncan watched him go. Then, he stiffened his spine, and went into the second bedroom.

Methos and Gregor were still ensconced between the bed and the wall. Methos lifted his head; his and Gregor’s warm laughing skimmed over the now-empty bed and caused the hairs to rise on Duncan’s arms.

“Invitation’s still open, MacLeod,” Methos said.

Gregor echoed the temptation, “Stay, Duncan.”

Duncan shrugged. Why not, he asked himself. He could choose many worse ways to christen his new house.

He grabbed the edge of the bed frame and heaved it over, making sure there would be enough room for three, in the crack of space between the wall and the bed.


End file.
